AN: For more Flowerpot, come check out the FP discord!
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Harry groaned as his phone continued to ring from the counter, the incessant sound of the default, generic ringtone filling the space with its rise and fall. Dropping his spatula, he wiped his hands on the towel before grabbing his aging handheld, smiling when he saw the name and swiping to answer.
"Hey Hermione," greeted Harry with a bright smile. His bushy-haired friend smiled back.
"Harry! How are you?" she replied, "Just wanted to check in to see if everything's going smoothly."
"Smooth enough. Hang on, let me prop you up, I'm making breakfast," he said, looking around before grabbing two of his textbooks and leaning his phone against them, the camera pointing towards the stove. "There, much better."
"Cooking?"
Harry nodded, turning back towards his skillet, the only one he owned, cracking two eggs into it before tossing the shells into the trash.
"I had a free morning and couldn't pick up a shift at work, so I figured I'd make breakfast for a change. Usually don't have the luxury," he explained as he dropped the diced ham into the mixture. He'd stopped at the store around the corner last night and picked it up. Luckily, it had been on sale, close to its expiration date, he'd noticed. He hoped the label was accurate, but he was sure it would be edible regardless.
"How are classes?" asked Hermione, looking around for something as she spoke.
He noticed she was in her office, the small second room in her place that was dedicated to all things 'Professional Hermione,' as he had dubbed it. He wondered if she'd been writing before she called. She often sought him out when she was having trouble pushing through a scene or interaction that refused to cooperate.
"Overwhelming," he admitted while adding some cheese on one side of the omlet.
"Tough subject matter? Or something else?" Hermione asked, a concerned look in her eyes, that little furrow of her brow whenever she was troubled making its appearance.
He shrugged.
"You know how it's been for me with school," he said, casting a sidelong glance at her, "I'm a better student than Dudley ever was, but not much more than that. Hell, I barely got in here. Those entrance exams were no joke."
"It's just… different, I guess," Harry said, attempting to fold half of the cooking eggs over the other half that contained the ham, only partially succeeding. "The freedom is nice, I suppose, but the lack of structure has taken some getting used to."
"How so?"
"Dunno," he replied with a shrug, sliding the almost-an-omelet onto the waiting paper plate, "It's like, before, teachers kept on you about getting things done and turning in your homework. Here, though, the Professors don't care if you show up or do your work. They just expect you to get it done. Like…"
"Like an adult," Hermione supplied, causing Harry to nod as he cut the omelet and took a bite, picking up the carton of eggs and returning it to the fridge.
Tilting her head to the side, Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Is…Is that a carton of two dozen eggs?" she asked, and Harry let out a low growl.
"Yeah," he said, returning to the spot in the room where his phone's camera could see him. "Ron left them here "In case I get hungry while I'm over" were his exact words."
"And you don't like that because…?"
"Because he's never here, which means he did it to buy me groceries, even though he knows I hate it." Frustration was clear in his tone, and he turned away from his phone to take a deep breath, filling a glass with water.
"Ron's a good guy," Hermione said, "He probably just wants to look out for you. Can you honestly say you wouldn't do the same if you were in his shoes?"
"I-I," he stammered before sighing. "Yeah, alright."
"Enough about me, though, are you still busy?"
"Yes, bloody hell, yes," she ground out, causing Harry to laugh, her rare curses always gave him a smile. "So many interviews, press releases, and statements. Sooooooo many podcasts. It's almost too much. I just want to shut my door and write." She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest, pouting like a child.
"Poor Hermione," Harry teased, "You can be a hermit when the series is done."
She rolled her eyes. "Funny. My publicist said the same thing. Did you finish it yet?" An excited look spread across her face as she waited for his answer, but his eyes widened as he remembered.
The book. Shit.
"Uh, yeah, I did. Fantastic, of course. I did not see that ending coming. You're evil for leaving it on a cliffhanger though." Hermione studied him closely, or at least, as closely as she could over a video call.
"But?"
He ran a hand through his hair again before fidgeting in front of the camera, glancing back at his friend and the floor.
"The thing is, I kinda, well, broke my promise," he muttered, so low that she was only just able to hear him.
"Oh? What promise?"
"About the book," he said flatly. "Someone saw the book." She made an "o" shape with her mouth, finally remembering the promise he meant. That promise.
"And do they have the book?"
Harry shook his head vigorously. "Of course not! I would never let anyone take it," he said, an affronted look in his eyes.
"So, what's the problem? You said you still have the book," Hermione pointed out.
"Yes, but she recog-"
"SHE?" Hermione shouted excitedly. "Does Harry Potter have another female friend that's not me?" Her teasing tone earned a glare, causing her to break out into a fit of laughter.
"It's not funny, Hermione! She tried to buy the book! With money!"
"How much did she offer?"
Harry stopped fidgeting, a questioning look on his face. "She said I would get whatever I wanted."
Hermione looked smug.
"Huh, nice to know a pre-release copy of mine would fetch such a price," she mumbled, mostly to herself. Seeing that Harry was not amused, she smiled. "It's fine Harry, it really is. Stop worrying about it. A fan saw the book, so I know at least one person wants to buy it. That's a good thing. My publicist would be thrilled."
An alarm rang on Hermione's side of the call and she quickly silenced it. "I've got to go, Harry, sorry. I've got a video call with the publishing company to discuss some last minute details about the marketing campaign. I'll call you again soon. Have fun at school!"
Before he could respond, the screen went dark and he laughed. Their video calls always ended that way, Hermione forgetting to let him say bye, rushing off to her latest meeting or an idea striking her that she had to write down. It was their unique way of parting.
Tossing the paper plate into the trash, Harry went to get his bag and head to campus.
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Fleur bounced her leg up and down rapidly, scrolling through her phone as she sat on the bench outside the political science building, an irritated look in her eyes. Ever since she'd seen that book, that impossible book, it had been on her mind. She had gone straight back to her room, not bothering to answer Angelina's call of concern, and opened her computer. She spent hours looking through every storefront, subreddit, and discord server she could find, looking for some sign that there were more copies out there. Her search yielded nothing, making her certain the guy that had practically run from her was the only one with a copy.
So, Fleur Delacour did what she always did with any problem: she attacked it head on and with maximum effort. First, she needed to find out who he was. It was a big university, tens of thousands of students, and the campus was sizable, so she'd start local. She'd checked around the design buildings, her own major a logical place to start, but came up empty. Even asking the administrative staff had provided little, though she knew that her vague descriptions didn't help. Black hair, glasses, green eyes, raggedy clothes. That's all she had to go on.
It seemed, however, that luck was on her side, as her second stop, her roommate Angelina, provided her first lead. The worst kind of lead.
"Hey," Fleur said, popping her head into Angelina's room, her friend pulling her headphones down and looking up. "Got a second?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Engineering doesn't get many new people each year, right?" asked Fleur. Her black haired friend shook her head.
"Sadly, no. Engineering isn't exactly a major a bunch of people are clamoring for. Why, whatcha got?"
Fleur chewed her lip a moment before nodding. "I'm looking for someone but I don't know where to find him-"
"Him?!" exclaimed Angelina, sitting up fully in the bed, eyes alight with mirth. "Has Fleur Delacour found someone to share her bed with?" Fleur turned up her nose in disgust.
"Hardly something so dramatic," she said, "He has something that I need. Our first meeting went poorly, but I'd like to find him."
"You yelled at him and he ran away, right?" Angelina said, a knowing look in her eyes. Fleur scowled, folding her arms across her chest and looking away. She held that defiance until her roommate spoke again.
"You know, it probably wouldn't hurt you to be nice to whoever this guy is," said Angelina softly, turning back to her laptop to pause her playlist. "If he's got something you want, maybe don't go in with guns blazing. Like you normally do."
"What? I do not!" Fleur exclaimed. All she received was a raised eyebrow.
"Aaaaanyway, what's this guy look like that you're trying to find?"
Fleur uncrossed her arms, grateful for the change of subject. She didn't consider herself a particularly intimidating person, but she knew she had a certain…reputation for not being all that hospitable. Perhaps a lighter touch would be a good approach?
"He's got a messy nest of black hair, green eyes, glasses, not the stylish kind, and, at least the day I saw him, wears clothes that are clearly hand-me-downs, or at the least very worn," she explained, listing off the qualities she remembered and believed would be most relevant to finding him.
"I don't know anyone personally with that description, but, wait, you said green eyes and glasses?"
Fleur nodded.
"How green?" Angelina pressed.
Confused, Fleur shrugged. "I don't know, I didn't really look that closely, but pretty green, I guess? Emerald green?"
Angelina's eyes got wide before she barked out a laugh and flopped back onto her bed, a look of smug satisfaction.
"I might not know anyone like that, but I know someone who might know someone that fits that description."
"Who?" asked Fleur, internally cringing at the small bit of desperation in her voice.
"Percy," replied Angelina simply, going into another fit of laughter at Fleur's reaction.
So, here she sat, waiting for stuck up Percy Weasley to maybe help her with her search. She wondered if she looked pathetic sitting there, clearly waiting for someone. Fleur Delacour didn't do pathetic.
As students started exiting the building, the first round of afternoon classes letting out, she spotted him. It wasn't difficult, he was rather tall, like the rest of his brothers, according to Angelina, and his red mop of hair stuck out amongst the sea of black, brown, and blonde.
Standing up, she dusted off her jeans and strolled over to him, a determined look in her eyes.
"Weasley," she greeted as she approached, stopping him in his tracks. Briefly, he looked shocked, clearly not expecting her to greet him, or really be anywhere near this part of campus, if she were being honest. But she was on a mission, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
"Delacour," he said, a small, polite smile on his face. Their conversations hadn't always been pleasant, each one believed themselves to be smarter than the other, so his hesitation was understandable, she knew. Best to get it done and over with quickly.
"Angelina said you might be able to assist me," she explained. He raised an eyebrow.
"Perhaps, though it would very much depend on the matter in question," he explained, and she bit the inside of her cheek to hold in the retort that sprang to her lips at his tone. That ''you should already know this'' tone he took with everyone. It grated on her nerves.
"I'm looking for someone, but I don't know their major or even name. Black hair, green eyes, glasses, and secondhand clothes. Angelina said you might know someone of that description?" she asked, and he nodded knowingly.
"That sounds like Harry," he said, "Harry Potter. He's friends with my youngest brother, Ron. Best friends, I believe." Fleur nodded.
"Do you know where he is now?" Keep it short, sweet, and to the point, she reminded herself. Percy shook his head.
"No," he shrugged, "but you might ask Ron. He's on the sportsball team, got in on a scholarship and everything. I believe they'll be training in the athletes' gym until the evening."
She bit the inside of her cheek again, this time out of irritation. Another trip to another person. Just great.
"Thank you," she said, and she meant it, she realized. With a swift nod, he stepped around her, heading off in the direction of the library. Before he got too far, she called out, causing him to turn around.
"It probably wouldn't hurt you to be nice"
Angelina's words echoed in Fleur's mind, somehow resonating with her in a way that she'd have never given a second thought to before.
"Good luck this year, Wea…Percy," she said. His eyes widened briefly, caught off guard by her words before regaining his composure and nodding.
"You too…Fleur."
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The athlete's gym was alive with activity, the entire sportsball team must have come to workout, or been made to, Fleur realized. Music pumped through the rather extensive sound system, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrating the ground beneath her feet. She turned away from the first person who looked her up and down. She outright glared at the second. She kept moving, however, looking for her target.
He would be tall, with red hair, and probably broad, if the others working out were any indication. Eyes followed her everywhere, and it briefly made her skin crawl before she pushed it out of her mind. She was used to staring, she wasn't unaware of her looks, so she let it pass. Finally, she spotted him on the far side of the room, laid on the bench, pressing the bar up and down. She had found him.
"Uh, dude," Dean said, staring out across the gym.
"Little busy here," grunted Ron, pushing the bar back up again, air escaping his lips.
"Uh, dude," repeated Dean, Transfixed on something instead of spotting Ron.
"Busy…" Ron grunted again, pushing the bar up for his final rep and placing it back on the rack.
"Uh, dude," Dean said for the third time. Sitting up, Ron glared at his friend.
"What, Dean? What? You're supposed to be spotting me," he growled, though Dean was still looking past him.
"Fleur Delacour just walked into the gym and she's looking directly at you. She's coming this way. Fast."
Ron looked up and, sure enough, the blond was making her way over to them, a purpose in her stride as she ignored everyone else. Several people called to her, but she simply kept walking until she was directly in front of them.
"Are you Ron Weasley?" she asked, irritation in her voice. The redhead gave his best smirk, a practiced look, she realized.
"I am. Fleur Delacour? You've come all the way here, to find me? That's, well, that's flattering," he said lamely, clearly flustered. She took a deep breath, remembering Angelina's words once again. She tried to ease the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her brow, to make herself less like a cobra preparing to strike.
"Doyouwannagooutsometime?"
She looked down.
"What?"
Ron rubbed the back of his neck and looked down.
"I said, do you want to go out sometime?" he repeated, looking back up at her, a blush forming on his face.
"Sorry, but I'm not interested," she said, a look of defeat crossing his face. "I'm looking for Harry Potter. Your brother Percy said you're friends with him." She noticed his whole demeanor change, no longer was there a freshman asking an older woman out on a date, but a protective brother, eyes narrowing.
"What do you want with Harry?" he asked suspiciously. She sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"He's got something that I want, but I've no clue where to find him." Recognition flashed over Ron's face, recognition mixed with…mistrust? Fleur couldn't tell.
"Ah," he said, standing up to begin changing the plates on the bar. "You're talking about the book."
"You know about that?" she asked, taking a half step forward before stopping herself.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, he told me. Felt pretty bad about someone seeing it. Thought Hermione would kill him."
Fleur sighed. "Look, I just want to ask him about it and…apologize for our first meeting," she admitted, though Ron narrowed his eyes again. He slammed the plate onto the left side of the bar and tightened the collar. Walking over to the other side, he looked back at her.
"Yeah, I don't think you do," he said casually.
"Excuse me?"
Ron gave her a flat look, his previous nervousness completely gone, replaced with the guarded demeanor she had often used herself around others.
"I don't think you really want to apologize," said Ron, locking the last plate in place with the collar before sighing. "It's Wednesday, so he's probably on the third floor of the library. He has a late class today but doesn't work, so he usually stays to get some of his assignments done before heading home."
"Thank you," she said, nodding to Ron before turning around. Just as she set off, he called out.
"Just…" he said as she half turned to look back at him. "He's not going to give you the book, that much I can tell you now. It's important to him. So please, maybe try not to bitch him out? He's a way too nice of a guy and he's been through enough already."
After a brief pause, she gave a curt nod before leaving just as quickly as she entered.
Dean approached Ron as he was getting back onto the bench, ready for his next set. "Your friend is dead meat," he said, standing near the bar, ready to resume his duties spotting Ron.
"I'm sure he'll be fine. I hope."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're not gonna warn him she's on her way?"
Ron laughed. "Where's the fun in that?"
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Harry sighed, leaning back from his laptop, the whirl of the fan filling the small corner of the library he'd claimed as his own. He'd been at it for hours, toiling away at the mountain of work given to him, the quiet third floor of the library his only companion. After his disastrous run in at the computer center, he'd sought a different quiet place to lay claim to, settling on a small table on the third floor of the library. Very little foot traffic, which helped him concentrate.
Midterms had blown through, late night cram sessions and all night coffee refills with it, but his busy schedule remained. He knew most of it was his own doing, having taken a larger course load than most entering freshman, but he had told the counselor that he wanted a challenge, so a challenge he had gotten. He probably should have stuck with the recommended number of classes.
The fan in his old laptop ramped up, it did that sometimes, and he closed a handful of the tabs he had open, alleviating some of the stress on its usage. He rolled his neck, stiff from sitting at the desk for so long, before refocusing on the screen. He only had a little bit more to write, then he could head back and maybe get a full night of sleep. He just had to power through and get it done.
So engrossed in his assignment, he didn't even hear her approach. It wasn't until the chair across from him rattled against the desk that he looked up, his eyes widening in shock. Fleur Delacour was back, standing in front of him, and she didn't look thrilled to be here. Immediately he threw his hands up, pushing back from the desk and reaching for his bag, his fight or flight instinct firmly settling on flight.
"Wait," she said, putting her hand out, stopping him just as he gripped the strap on his bag. Looking back up at her, he saw something in her face that wasn't there that night in the computer center. Uncertainty, perhaps?
"I don't want to fight with you Delacour," he said, "I'm just going to go-"
"Please don't," she said, "I didn't come here to make you leave. Or to fight."
"Then what did you come here for?" he asked, a tentative eyebrow raised. She fidgeted, biting her lip some, and he could tell she was nervous. Or maybe uncomfortable? He wasn't sure, but he could tell she was struggling.
"I wanted to apologize. For that night in the computer center. I know I came across a little-," she paused, searching for the right words to use.
"Intense? Rude?" he offered.
She gave an apologetic smile and nodded. "Yeah. That."
Harry waved her off, relief flooding through him. He didn't have the book on him, he'd finished it already, so he kept it locked securely at his place. She seemed genuine, even if he got the sense she wasn't one for many apologies, but at least he didn't believe she was looking to start a fight. Good, he quite liked this part of the library and he had no intentions of finding somewhere else to work.
"It's alright," he said, "To be honest, I was a bit freaked out when you saw the book. I wasn't supposed to show it to anyone. Hell, I probably shouldn't have even had it in my bag."
She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down gracefully, her eyes fixed on him. She was chewing her bottom lip again.
"Go ahead and ask," he said, a small sigh escaping his lips. Her eyes brightened.
"Do you really know Hermione Granger? How did you meet? How is the book? Are you sure I can't read it? I promise I won't tell anyone. Would you like to borrow one of mine? I've got a first edition signed copy of 'The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress' you could borrow in return!"
Harry's eyes got wide and he sucked in a quick breath, instinctively leaning back. So many thoughts ran through his mind all at once, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions and an offer of what he could only guess is a very valuable and rare book, but one struck him the most.
Fleur Delacour was rambling.
He held up his hands in mock defeat.
"Woah, woah, woah," he said, "Let me see if I can break that down a bit. That's a very generous offer, I love Heinlein, but I couldn't possibly borrow such an expensive collectors item." She started to interrupt but he shook his head. "I just won't."
She looked as if she wanted to say something but held back, nodding. Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he had held, glad that she wasn't going to press the issue.
"So you really know Hermione Granger?"
He nodded.
"Yeah, I met her a few years ago in school. She was doing research for one of the Veela and the Vampire books. We met in a library, though it wasn't quite as large as this one." He looked around at the massive floor, rows and rows of shelves containing tombs big and small, far more than the modest library he had met one of his best friends in.
That felt like a lifetime ago.
"Been friends ever since. She gave me the book right before I came here, as a sort of graduation gift."
Fleur's eyes lit up with excitement. "Did you help her with the Tears series? Has she written any more? Do you know what's coming up?"
He sighed. "Look, I've got to finish this up," gesturing towards his laptop, "It shouldn't take me long. I'll tell you more after I'm done, but I can't let you see the book. I promised Hermione I wouldn't let anyone see it. She had to pull quite a few strings to get me a fully bound copy of it so far in advance. I just can't break her trust like that."
He wouldn't budge, and he got the sense that she knew that. His relationships with his friends were important to him, maybe the most important thing he had, so he wouldn't betray Hermione's trust. Even if the bushy haired woman thought his situation was funny.
"Very well, I won't try getting it from you," Fleur said, "Would you mind if I did some of my own work here? I have a few things to take care of myself."
He shook his head. "Be my guest."
Fleur placed her bag on the table and unclasped it, flipping it open to reach for her laptop. Just as the bag opened, a small paper book fell out and hit the ground. Looking down, Harry bent over and picked it up, raising an eyebrow at the cover. Batgirl #25. He could explain away Fleur's knowledge of Hermione's work; his friend was, after all, a popular author.
Did Fleur Delacour's interest go deeper?
"Batgirl #25," he said, looking up at her. She was looking at him wide eyed, as if she had been caught with something she wasn't allowed to have. Did she wonder if he'd judge her?
"Have you finished it?"
She nodded.
"And?" he prodded.
"And I liked it," she said as he leaned over to hand her the book back.
"You're in for a treat," he said with a grin. "That's the issue that Marguerite Bennett did writing for and it sets the stage for a pretty great run."
Fleur's eyes lit up in excitement. "Really? Oh, that's absolutely fantastic. Her work on Batwoman was amazing."
"Right?" said Harry. "One of the best books of the relaunch if you ask me."
"Exactly my thoughts!" Fleur said, pushing her bag aside and opening the comic book. "It was such a shame they canceled it after #18. I was so upset."
"Which story was your favorite?"
"'Hopeless Romantic,'" she said immediately, turning the pages to where the story started. "It's just, oh man, it's finally nice to get some quality content with Barbara and Dick." Harry nodded, looking over the pages as she idly turned them.
"It was actually perfect. Stealing Bruce and Selina's suite like that, only for them to-"
"Just talk. Nothing more," she finished with a smile. "Everyone wants them to do the deed, but Bennett just has them have this really meaningful conversation…"
Fleur's words trail off as her mind goes to the pages and Harry smiles, her enthusiasm quickly becoming infectious.
"Paul Pelletier's art in 'Value' is top notch," he said as she flipped to that story.
"As usual," she agreed,"His lines are always so crisp and Aquaman looked amazing when he was on it. Such a shame they didn't bring him back for that relaunch."
He nodded again, tracing his fingers along the wheel of the bike displayed in the panel.
"Luckily, this issue kicks off a run with him and Mairghread Scott that kinda defines Batgirl for the better."
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that," Fleur said excitedly, a hint of relief in her voice. "I've always loved Batgirl and she hasn't always had the best books."
Harry nodded solemnly, agreeing with the sentiment, all the while, something else registered in the back of his mind, just as his assignment was forgotten and they launched into an animated discussion of a wide number of comic books.
Fleur Delacour was just as big of a nerd as he was.
Ron didn't like nerdy things and Hermione wasn't around often enough, so perhaps he had made a new friend to share his favorite hobbies with?